


3y3s

by Winddrag0n



Series: Deadmeat [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Begging, Blindfolds, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Fight Sex, Fighting, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Fixation, Top Will, it's hannibal's turn to power bottom, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 15:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: Pain, bright and wide across his face as Will feels his head jerk to the side. It’s only when he turns back, sees the cold look in Hannibal’s eyes as he pulls his hand back, that he realizes Hannibal has just slapped him. “I will not apologize,” he says, words clipped. “You were out of line.”“Good,” Will grins, an electric energy shooting through his veins, “because I’m not going to apologize for this either.” He lunges forward, uses fists where the other man had used his open hand, and punches Hannibal square in the jaw.-Trouble in paradise.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Deadmeat [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514474
Comments: 14
Kudos: 204
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	3y3s

**Author's Note:**

> come on there was no way they would just have a perfect life with no conflict this was an inevitability
> 
> I've never written bottom Hannibal before and I'm still not sure how I feel about how it ended up, though I can't think of anything to change short of rewriting the entire piece... it's been a while since I've written an actual fight scene and even though this one is short, I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> It might seem like I'm writing these in a somewhat predictable, planned pattern but please keep in mind that I actually have no idea what I'm doing at any point

They ate together, whenever possible. Both Hannibal and Will would wake up, get ready for the day, eat breakfast, and later rejoin for dinner. In the instances that both men were home for it they would eat lunch, though it was more common for one of them to eat alone at the table (or over the sink, as Will found himself doing with a frequency he knew would infuriate his partner) as the other was off working. Will usually found himself at the harbors in town, helping repair injured watercraft or just taking care of things for the day. The harbormaster would call him if he needed help, seemingly happy to have someone experienced who did not mind inconsistent hours and pay, and the exposure helped Will hone his French back to a near-fluent state. Occasionally, he would use the wrong word, slipping into his old dialect, but only rarely did a rude tourist make fun of him for that. He refused to tell Hannibal about these minor incidents.

When he asked Hannibal what he was doing and received the answer of ‘consulting’ there was a brief moment of anger before the other man elaborated and it became apparent that the single word really was the closest to an explanation he could give, simply due to the sheer expanse of what he covered. Hannibal’s connections ran deep through what seemed to be the entire world. One day he would be called to give an opinion on an antique, and the next he was giving lectures on psychiatry at a nearby university. Will gave up trying to keep track of his exploits.

This is one of the rarer days where they are eating lunch together, holding a casual conversation over the meal. “Have you checked the news at all?” Will pauses, wondering if he needs to clarify, then does so anyways. “From Baltimore.”

Hannibal fixes him with an amused look. Will has made it clear he wants to leave that life behind him, but he cannot contain his nervousness nor his natural curiosity, and this is not the first time he has asked about what is happening back in the states. “I still check TattleCrime on occasion.”

Will scowls, makes no effort to hide his displeasure. “That’s not news.” Once more, he pauses, places his silverware back on the plate, done with his meal. “I’m sure Freddie Lounds is having a fucking field day with this, though.”

“You would be correct,” Hannibal confirms, a small smile on his face. “She is spinning grand tales about what she believes the two of us are getting up to.”

“I’m not sure if the truth would be any less exciting to her,” Will mutters. He stands, takes his dishes into the kitchen to wash, and Hannibal follows. 

“She is certainly partially correct.” They take their usual places- Hannibal washing, Will drying. “We seem to be making her quite a lot of money if the amount of articles she is publishing is any indication.”

_ That seems odd, _ Will thinks to himself, and then he says it out loud. “Surely she can’t skate by on wild speculation for that long,” he elaborates.

“When she found Randall’s true form it triggered quite the chain of events.” Hannibal says it mildly, like he’s commenting on the weather, or what job he has lined up for the next day.

Will’s brain grinds to a halt and the item he was drying (just a fork, thankfully) slips out of his hand and clatters to the floor. Hannibal shoots him a disapproving look before bending down to collect and rewash the implement. “What did you just say?” 

“Ms Lounds found Randall’s exoskeleton in your barn,” Hannibal repeats. “The article about it was published shortly after we departed, if memory serves.”

“That’s not possible,” Will protests, voice weak. “Alana would have contacted Jack first, after she couldn’t reach us, and he would have gone to collect it immediately.”

“It happened, Will.” Hannibal finishes the dishes himself, turning to face the empath fully once they are seen to. “Jack was forced to come clean and stepped down as head of the BAU.”

“You tipped her off,” Will accuses, jaw tight. He won’t look Hannibal in the eyes. “It had to have been you. Why?”

“This incident has reflected poorly on Jack and quite well on us, speculation notwithstanding. While some, like Ms Lounds, are closer to the truth, most seem to be of the opinion that you simply could not take the stress and trauma and chose to run from it. Does being perceived as weak bother you, Will?”

“Don’t fucking deflect,” Will growls, hands tightening on the counter behind him. “You ruined Jack’s life with this and didn’t so much as ask my opinion.”

“Do you not believe he deserves it?”

“ _ No, _ ” Will bites out, so quickly it startles them both. “In the villa, you told me that if Tier was ever discovered, Jack would defend me, but by then you had already signed his death warrant. Did you consider, even for a second, telling me the truth instead?”

Hannibal hesitates, not long, but long enough to further deepen Will’s scowl. “I now understand the importance you place on honesty-” he begins, but Will doesn’t let him continue.

“No, you don’t,” Will interrupts. “You are willing to be honest because I’m asking it of you, but you don’t actually understand  _ why _ .” Will crosses his arms, trying to tamp down the rage he feels bubbling up inside him, knowing without doubt that it will spill over if this conversation continues. “As long as you like the end result, you don’t care in the slightest about how you arrive there.”

“As long as I continue to be honest, do my motivations for doing so matter?” Hannibal cocks his head, eyes blank, and for a moment he looks so inhuman that Will cannot suppress a shiver. He often forgets, during their moments of calm and contentment, what Hannibal’s true nature is like. Now, he sees it clearly, and wonders how he could ever have forgotten.

“Yes,” Will hisses, hands tightening around his forearms, “because it means you’re still afraid to show yourself around me, when I’ve been so stripped bare I feel like I no longer have skin. I haven’t forgotten everything you’ve done, to me, to your  _ victims _ , and I never will.”

Hannibal is tense now, holding perfectly still. “Do you no longer consider yourself to be one of my victims?”

It’s almost pavlovian, the way Will reacts to Hannibal’s attempts to change the track of conversation now, and he finds himself baring his teeth in a snarl. “I’m so far beyond your victim that I’ve landed in a place without definition,” he spits. “Yet you still hide. Why? Are you that fucking afraid of how I’ve already reacted?”

For a moment, so quick it almost doesn’t happen, fury darkens Hannibal’s expression. “You are volatile, Will,” Hannibal answers. “I am simply maintaining stability for the both of us.”

Later, Will wonders if Hannibal was deliberately trying to push him to the point where he snaps, or if he truly thought saying the worst thing possible could have improved the situation. It’s possible he was trying to break Will, pop the balloon of his anger in one violent motion, but if so he had forgotten one important thing- Will doesn’t break, he bends, and snaps back with devastating results. Will laughs, harshly. “You’re fucking unbelivable,” he grinds out, dangerously calm. He knows this is a fight, will probably end in a physical one, and the acceptance of that is oddly grounding. “You don’t give a shit about anyone’s stability other than your own, I’m living proof of that. All you care about is control.”

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is low, a timbre Will recognizes as dangerous, but all he wants to do is push and  _ break _ .

“You’ll do anything to maintain your precious control. If I said I wanted to leave, would you break my legs and lock me in the basement instead of letting me go? God forbid there be a variable out in the world you don’t have under your thumb. If I had a different set of equipment you’d be poking holes in the condom.” Will smiles, all teeth, infinitely cruel. “Did you do that to Alana, or only consider it?”

Pain, bright and wide across his face as Will feels his head jerk to the side. It’s only when he turns back, sees the cold look in Hannibal’s eyes as he pulls his hand back, that he realizes Hannibal has just slapped him. “I will not apologize,” he says, words clipped. “You were out of line.”

“Good,” Will grins, an electric energy shooting through his veins, “because I’m not going to apologize for this either.” He lunges forward, uses fists where the other man had used his open hand, and punches Hannibal square in the jaw.

He sees it, now, that flicker of something monstrous in Hannibal’s eyes as he adjusts his balance, uses his minor height advantage to look down at Will, radiating cold fury. Will is quick but Hannibal is quicker, grabbing Will by the back of his collar like an unruly puppy and dragging him out of the kitchen and into the living room.  _ Less weapons, _ Will laughs to himself,  _ less chance of doing lasting damage.  _ He is thrown bodily onto the floor but spins himself around, braces his hands on the floor and jumps to his feet before Hannibal can collapse on top of him and pin him with his bulk. Will lunges again, more animal than man, anticipating Hannibal’s rotation and moving with it, fisting his hands into the suit coat and pulling hard. When it comes free entirely, Hannibal slipping out of his grasp, Will snarls. 

A hand is on his neck now, Hannibal seeking to end this in one movement, but Will responds with a quick jab to the kidneys. Hannibal gasps in pain and his hand loosens long enough for Will to break free and dart backwards. It’s slight, but Hannibal is larger and his limbs are longer, and Will knows the killer will use that to his full advantage. He needs to be quick if they are fighting without weapons, needs to dance between his hands and lands his blows before Hannibal gets a solid grip on him. It would be different if Will was just another victim or assailant, someone Hannibal wanted dead, but he knows his partner will be focusing on grapples and other ways to subdue him and end the fight as quickly as possible. Hannibal seems to be waiting, preferring to use Will’s momentum against him rather than approach and leave an opening, and Will knows that one wrong move will end this for him.

There’s a table next to him and he grabs at it blindy, closing his hand around an object (a coaster, probably) before throwing it at Hannibal. He jerks out of the way and Will uses this moment to maneuver himself behind Hannibal, jumps on his back and wraps an arm around his neck as he staggers. He squeezes, tries to block the airflow and daze the larger man, but in turn Hannibal jerks backwards and smashes Will against the wall. Will lets out a cry of pain but does not release his grip until he is dashed against the wall once, twice, three more times, finally slipping off of the other man’s back in a daze. Hannibal wastes no time shaking Will off and he soon has his hand around the man’s throat, pinning him to the wall. He drags him upwards, takes his feet off the ground, and Will scrabbles and kicks uselessly in the air. It’s over, already, but he refuses to accept that. He is able to get a hand behind Hannibal’s head, hauls him forward, and kisses him with what little breath he has left.

Hannibal, it seems, had not expected that. As his hand loosens Will takes a huge gulping breath, feels his strength return to him, and kicks his opponent in the stomach. He is freed, slumping to the floor and quickly scrambling away, only to feel a bruising grip on his ankle before he is pulled backwards and then Hannibal is using his entire weight to pin him to the ground. “Is this what you wanted?” Hannibal’s voice is rough as he grinds down against Will’s ass, erection obvious through his pants.

“It definitely seems like it’s what you wanted,” Will snipes, breath stuttering as Hannibal bears down on him. “I mostly just wanted to punch you.”

Will can’t move like this, utterly trapped underneath the body above him, face crushed into the carpet. What little friction there is feels burning hot as Hannibal pins his legs, spreading them before pushing back down. His hands are like iron around Will’s wrists, pressing deep into the floor, leaving what he’s sure will be impressive bruises by the time they are finished. There are too many layers between them and Will can feel Hannibal grow frustrated with the muted sensation. He wants to laugh, but isn’t sure he has the breath to do so. “Are you going to attack me again if I attempt to undress us?” Hannibal asks.

Beneath him, Will pretends to consider it. “I think not,” he hums, flexing his arms beneath their prison. “This seems more enjoyable, at the moment.”

He keeps his promise, almost. Hannibal is able to remove their shirts, pants, and by then he is no longer expecting it and Will quite easily elbows him in the side and throws him off. On the floor, Hannibal scowls at him, a hand tucked across his ribs, where Will got him quite hard. “Shouldn’t have listened,” Will shrugs, rolling to the side as Hannibal lunges clumsily at him. He doesn’t have long before Hannibal regains his footing and the upper hand along with it. It’s easy for him to get back to his feet and he takes rapid steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Hannibal so he can react, and then suddenly his feet are tangled up in something and he is crashing back down to the ground. He sees the item, briefly, just before Hannibal is on him once more- the suit jacket. It should have been on the couch, he had thrown it there, when the  _ fuck _ had Hannibal had time to place a fucking  _ trap- _

“Are you finished?” Hannibal asks, straddling Will, hands on his shoulders securing him to the ground. If Will tried, he may be able to brace his feet on the carpet and try to buck Hannibal off, but the man in question apparently has the same thought because he slides backwards, resting on the top of Will’s thighs. 

“Not really,” Will sighs, hands already balling into fists and moving to strike, only to be caught pitifully easily by Hannibal. He’s holding his tie, had the foresight to bring it with him along with his shirt, and he uses the tie to bind Will’s hands, looping it around his wrists before reaching for the discarded shirt to further the bindings. “Oh, fuck you,” Will hisses, testing his bonds and finding them inescapable.

Above him, Hannibal stalls, considering something. He glances at the shirt, a darker color that had stood out from the pale suit, but whatever he is searching for Will cannot tell. Hannibal takes the shirt, leans forward and pulls Will’s head up enough to slide the item of clothing underneath. “What are you-” Will doesn’t finish his sentence before Hannibal wraps the shirt around his face, across his eyes, blinding him. It’s tied off tightly, no hope of slipping, accidental or otherwise. Like this, he can only strain to hear the other man’s movements, and with how deathly silent Hannibal has proven himself capable of being, Will finds he cannot predict what will happen to him next. 

It amplifies the sensations. Will twitches and shivers as Hannibal touches him, always keeping a hand on his chest to quell any struggles that may arise. Despite the circumstances, Will finds he doesn’t particularly want to escape anymore, lost in the way his body jumps at the sudden feeling of fingers pressing down onto the scrapes and bruises their altercation has left. It should hurt, and in a way it does, but it sends shocks of pleasure through him as well, leaving him flushed and panting beneath Hannibal’s hands. “Stop teasing,” he demands, squirming, trying to goad Hannibal into further action. “Or untie me so I can do something myself.”

“Forgive me if I no longer trust you,” Hannibal shoots back, voice light, but he obliges and pulls the underwear off them both, leaving them naked on the carpet. Like this, their cocks knock together and he gathers them in one broad hand, stroking gently. 

“F-Fuck,” Will gasps, thrusting upwards into the tight grip, feeling the drag of Hannibal’s dick along his. “Not that I don’t mind this, but are we gonna-”

“Patience,” Hannibal chides. There is an end table within reach and Hannibal is apparently able to lean over and extract something from within- with the hand that had been pinning Will down by the chest, the other tightening around them in warning- and soon Will hears the familiar click of the cap of a bottle of lube being opened.

“Do you just have those everywhere around the house?” Will laughs, words tapering off into a hiss as he feels the cold gel dripping directly onto them. Hannibal pumps them both, spreading the lubrication evenly along their lengths, sighing as it warms and allows them to slide together, smooth as silk. It’s slow, a smoldering pleasure, as they simply move together and enjoy the sensations. Will is trying to thrust upwards faster, increase the pace, but Hannibal is an immovable force and does not allow him to do so. “Come on,” Will whines, aware that he has abandoned his dignity somewhere along the line. “ _ Please. _ ”

Faintly, he can hear Hannibal squirting out more of the lube, and his stomach tenses in anticipation. He warms it in his hands, or at least Will guesses he does based on the time that passes and the faint squelching noises he can hear. Hannibal pulls back somewhat, to change the angle and situate himself between Will’s legs, because what else could he possibly be doing? Will cannot actually see, only relying on his hearing and predictions, and underneath the blindfold he frowns as the weight lifts off of him entirely. A hand is down, spreading the additional lubrication along Will’s dick, the weight moves forward, and Will has a brief hanging moment of utter confusion before something bears down and around him like molten lava. It’s hot, feels hotter than should be possible, feels tight and  _ perfect. _ Will’s head falls back against the carpet, mouth hanging open in a broken moan. “H-Hannibal,” he is eventually able to form, bound hands reaching forward unconsciously. 

Hannibal catches his wrists and bends them back, up and against his chest in a twisted mockery of prayer. “Do not touch,” he growls, voice as fractured as Will feels, “and do not move. You will take what I give you and nothing more.” He is kneeling, Will guesses, because  _ he _ would be, and his hands are braced on Will’s chest, on either side of where his wrists lay. More weight than is necessary is being pushed down on him but he barely notices as Hannibal starts to move, rolling up and almost entirely off of Will before sinking back down. As before, he is moving slowly, torturously so, content to draw this out as long as possible until Will has dissolved entirely beneath him. All he can do is lay there, awed, and accept it.

“Untie me,” Will begs, “the blindfold. P-Please. I want to-” -see, he wants to see Hannibal’s face has he fucks himself on Will’s cock, wants to see that place where he disappears inside the other man, wants to see that this is real and not just another dream he has mistaken for reality.

“No,” Hannibal denies, rocking his hips back and forth. “This is your punishment, and you will see nothing.”

“For starting a fight?” Will gasps. He wants to buck upwards, bury himself further into Hannibal, and it is taking every ounce of his self control to remain still like has been ordered of him.

“For losing.” Hannibal shifts his weight, presses down harder on Will’s trembling chest as he flattens how lower body against Will’s, trapping his cock between them. Again, Hannibal sighs, content with the added stimulation as he moves his hips. He shows no sign of changing the pace, the pleasure building slowly and threatening to smother Will if it does not get released soon.

“Please,” Will tries again, “let me move, it would be better for us both, just let me-”

“ _ No, _ ” Hannibal says once more, punctuating his repeated denial with a sharp downward thrust of his hips. Will is going to continue asking, they both know he will, a joint realization that presumably is what leads to the press of a thumb against Will’s lips. He opens his mouth where it had once been closed and Hannibal slips the digit inside, pressing down on Will’s tongue. It tastes salty, from their sweat, with the sharp tang of dish soap behind it. The digit is retracted almost disappointingly fast but before his mouth has time to close two fingers are shoved roughly inside, and Will nearly gags around the sudden intrusion. Instead, he licks, wraps his tongue around Hannibal’s pointer and middle fingers and sucks greedily.

He hears a sharp intake of breath above him and nearly smiles. It’s almost too easy, how he can manipulate Hannibal like this, regain control with such simple movements, turn the situation to his advantage-

Hannibal’s ring finger forces itself inside his mouth, remaining flat beside the others and stretching Will’s mouth painfully around them as Hannibal thrusts them deep inside. “Mmmf-” Will tries to speak around the makeshift gag, tell Hannibal that if he goes much farther he’s going to start gagging for real, that this is right on the edge of what he is capable of handling right now, but the smothered protest rips a throaty moan out of the man on top of him and Will’s entire body bucks in response. 

“Relax,” Hannibal soothes, forces his fingers deeper, stroking Will’s molars and then running his fingers along the rest of his teeth, counting them with his fingertips. He repeats this process, back and forth, fucking into his mouth with the same lack of urgency he continues with his motions down below. Will can feel drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, dripping down the sides of his face until a warm tongue traces the path it leaves and cleans the mess for him. “Suck,” Hannibal orders, voice quiet against Will’s ear, and he does what he is told, moaning around the fingers buried deep inside of him.

Obedience, it seems, is what Hannibal had been waiting for, as Will feels the wet slide of precum add to the lubrication being smeared against his lower body. Hannibal coordinates his movements quite easily, thrusting his fingers deeper at the same time he slides his hips back down, and every time Will sucks he is rewarded with one sharp thrust, giving him a taste of what he’s searching for. Everything fades away, his entire world reduced to those three points of intense contact; the objects choking in his mouth, the warm slide of Hannibal’s dick against his skin, and that smothering heat enveloping him. He focuses, allows those three places to define him, lets go and allows Hannibal the control he so fervently desires.

“Will,” a voice above him calls, thick with arousal. “Are you with me?” He nods, weakly, barely registering the tie falling away from his wrists. The fingers finally retreat, soothing kisses pressing along his abused lips, Hannibal’s tongue slipping out to lick along his teeth. Weight shifts, Hannibal is leaning back, bracing his hands behind him, on either side of Will’s thighs. “Then move.”

Will snaps back to reality, has his feet planted on the carpet in seconds and thrusts upwards, fucking a gasp out of Hannibal. It takes him several long moments to realize his hands are free but once he does, he does not reach for the blindfold, instead using them to haul himself upwards until he is sitting upright, legs stretched out before him, Hannibal straddling his lap. “We’ve been here before,” he gasps, remembering being like this but reversed, remembers what Hannibal had done and doing anything but. Hannibal hands are on his shoulders now, and every time he rises Will chases him upwards, meeting him thrust for thrust. Will, once more, threads his fingers through the thick curls of hair in Hannibal’s chest and  _ pulls _ . Hannibal hisses, in pain or pleasure Will does not know, his hands tightening on his shoulders but doing nothing more.

Their pace is frantic now, racing to an end to see who gets there first. Will can hear his breath shortening, feel himself reaching the breaking point, and only then do hands reach the back of his head and undo the makeshift blindfold and toss it to the side. He’s dazed, can’t see anything, and before he can adjust Hannibal has shoved Will’s head down against his shoulder. It’s cruel, a teasing glimpse of what he desires, so in retaliation Will opens his mouth, sets his teeth against flesh, does not bite, but presses down gently. He runs his tongue along the spot, tilts his head, noses at Hannibal’s neck before sucking a dark mark high enough that he’ll never be able to hide it.

It’s childish, he thinks, but in reality it’s simply possessive, and then Hannibal comes around him, the clenching waves dragging him over the cliff as well.

When Will pulls back, he finally sees Hannibal. The older man’s hair is in disarray, mostly hanging across his forehead, his mouth is open as he pants, and his cheeks are flushed. It’s a unique type of vulnerable he has never seen on the man before and he pulls him close, puts his chin on his shoulder and wraps his arms around him. They sit like that until they’ve recovered and words have returned to them.

Hannibal speaks first, voice cracking in a way that is almost endearing. “I did not expect you to beg.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to let me fuck you, so I guess today is just full of surprises, isn’t it?”

Hannibal tucks his head down, shaking slightly, and it takes a long time for Will to realize he’s  _ laughing. _ “Do you feel better?” he finally asks, once he has calmed.

“Weirdly, yes,” Will replies. His fingers ended up in Hannibal’s hair at some point, where he has been running them through the sandy blonde strands. “We should… talk. Actually talk. About this.”

“About my perceived need for control,” Hannibal clarifies, and Will uses his free hand to slap the other man across the back. “About my need for control,” Hannibal amends.

“And my explosive anger,” Will grumbles. He is just as much at fault as Hannibal here, though he knows if you look at the entire breadth of their relationship that he has every right to be angry. He could enact his revenge, take his due pound of flesh from Hannibal, and there was an overwhelmingly high chance that the other man would simply let him.

Now Hannibal pulls back, looks at Will, a small smile creeping across his face. “Don’t you fucking dare say you like my anger,” Will says quickly, before Hannibal can voice the thoughts he clearly has.

“I do,” Hannibal says anyways. “Your rage is spectacular to behold.”

“I threw a coaster at you,” Will points out. “One of those fancy stone ones.”

“You missed.”

“Get off of me,” Will laughs. “I’m not strong enough to carry us up to the bathroom like you are.”

Hannibal stands, pulls Will up with him, moving upsettingly well for someone who just rode him within an inch of his life. “Allow me,” he says, and before he can voice an objection Will finds himself lifted up and draped across Hannibal’s arms like a swooning maiden.

Will shifts, weighs the pros of escaping the embarrassment against the cons of crashing to the floor and settles for a biting comment instead. “Hannibal Lecter exerting his control yet again,” he sighs dramatically, allowing himself to go boneless and limp in the other man’s arms.

“Hush. I need to see to our wounds as well.” He takes them upstairs runs a deliciously warm bath full of all those weird scented salts he keeps using, and they soak their injuries away.

Neither of them is badly hurt, though Will has some impressive bruises on his back from where Hannibal smashed him against the wall repeatedly. Later, he sees Hannibal scrubbing semen and lube out of the living room carpet, and decides that’s injury enough to call it even. He fixes the hole the coaster left in the wall himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [青龍 - 3y3s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-iZiiKXJ5E)


End file.
